Just Got Started Lovin' You
by lizook
Summary: At least they'd been smart enough to put him in a deluxe suite with Donna's room adjoining his.


**Spoilers/Timeline**: None/Set in the future

**A/N**: First time writing mainly from Harvey's POV so... hopefully, it works... Thanks again to ******K. Elisabeth** for the spot checks.

**Disclaimer**: Nope, Suits still isn't mine. Title from the James Otto song of the same name.

* * *

He finishes drying his hair and tugs an old Harvard tee over his head. He nearly trips as his pj bottoms catch on the random bench and, not for the first time, curses the hotel.

Their bullshit decorators.

Harvey rarely goes on business trips—he's the best damn closer in the northeast, he can usually take care of it from his office—which only illustrates how important it is that the firm signs Lantsa-Tyron as a client. That he's flown to Chicago for what, most likely, will only be a two hour meeting the following day.

At least they'd been smart enough to put him in a deluxe suite with Donna's room adjoining his.

Invaluable Donna.

He'd left the kid back in New York to play lackey to Louis, but there hadn't even been a question of whether Donna was coming.

She keeps his schedule—hell, his whole life—straight.

Hanging up his suit, he picks up a stack of files (background on Lantsa-Tyron, share holdings, the details of their merger...) and settles on the giant bed.

It's late and he has an early morning, but he's still too keyed up; plane trips always leave him on a bit of an adrenaline high. Work—sifting through clauses most people can't even pronounce—calms him.

He closes the first folder, having practically memorized it on the flight, and starts flipping through the second. He can tell Donna didn't organize this one; Jessica must have assigned it to Norma in the rush to get all possible infor—

*Knock*

Papers scatter, drift to the floor, as the sound echoes from the door between their rooms. It starts as one, two lone knocks, but quickly increases to a steady stream.

Pushing himself out of bed, he smiles, picturing her on the other side of the door, hand on her hip, poised to browbeat him about the inferiority of her room, all the while reminding him of his schedule for the next day.

"Booty calls are so much easier when you don't have to pick up the phone, aren't—"

His question fades away as he slides open the lock and is confronted with the reality of her standing there. She's nervously glancing over her shoulder, the right corner of her mouth slightly lifted, ends of her hair still damp from when she showered after they arrived.

The image sticks in his brain, the realization that only a thin wall separated them as she washed away the problems of the day flaring heat across the base of his neck.

"...would be so lucky." She pushes past him and into the room, fingers toying with the hem of her tank top. "And I know it's ridiculous, but screw the feminist bullshit on this one—that spider is huge."

He almost laughs, but then he notices the faint worry line between her eyes, the set of her jaw, and he slips into the other room without another thought, her voice floating after him.

"It was above the bed last I saw. It looks like it could rival Shelob." He quickly does a survey of her room, unsurprised to find everything in its place: clothes laid out for the morning, his schedule highlighted on the nightstand, an extra blanket spread over the foot of the bed. "I don't know how I'm going to fall asleep; there could be a whole family living in the nightstand."

This time he does laugh. Sliding open the drawer, he checks for any intruders before scooping up her essentials and moving back towards his room.

Setting her phone and clothes on the table just inside the door, he leans against the jamb. "There's no sign of Aragog anywhere. I thought of just switching rooms, but I'll be cramped on that bed and there's plenty of room for you—"

He gulps, hand flexing on his thigh as his eyes finally land on her. She's sitting at the head of the bed, eyebrow arched, hair messed from leaning down and picking up all the papers he'd dropped.

She's piled them on the bed and—even from here he can tell—organized them before opening one of the folders to the company bylaws he'd planned on reviewing.

His heart swells, starts pounding wildly, and he knows the moment she notices it, sees the intent in his eyes, the slight parting of his lips, as he pushes off the door frame.

A thousand thoughts fly through his head as he crosses the room, closing the distance between them.

_There's no going back.  
He's tired of waiting. Pretending._

_He's nothing without her._

His mouth meets hers roughly, hungrily, his hand twisting in her hair, cushioning her head as he presses her against the wall. She moans beneath him, nails digging into his shoulders, urging him closer.

He's pretty sure he loses all breath, might actually whimper (everything Harvey Specter isn't supposed to do) as her tongue strokes over his and her heel digs into the back of thigh. Ducking his head, he trails hot kisses down the column of her throat as his arm wraps around her waist and—

He loses his balance, falling to the bed practically on top of her. They're both laughing, her cheeks flushed, as he puts a little space between them and rolls onto his back.

"I guess..." His hands are drifting over her arms (he can't seem to stop touching her now), smile growing as she tangles their legs together. "You'll just have to stay here tonight."

"Well, it certainly makes checking to see if you're up at five a.m. much easier." Sliding her feet under the covers, she turns the radio on softly and hands him the file next to her. "This is the last time you're doing paperwork while we're in bed though."

"Can I get that in writing?" He raises an eyebrow at her as her hand splays over his chest, head falls against his shoulder. Turning towards her, he sighs, pulling her closer.

The papers fall to the floor once more.


End file.
